


Sometimes beauty needs help

by Lolaishuman



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fairies, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 09:18:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18937996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lolaishuman/pseuds/Lolaishuman
Summary: Boy needs help. Boy meets fairy. Fairies aren't real, right?





	Sometimes beauty needs help

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is a time for firsts:  
> -first fic  
> -first time writing in English  
> -first 10k words story EVER  
> I feel I should go around my life choices.  
> Thanks to the mods for hosting the fest. Their good job deserves a hands down.  
> Thanks A LOT to tinyarmedtrex for the support, for not minding my whining, and for the opinions.  
> Last but not least, thanks to the artist, 65houseplants. They gave me the inspiration for this. You can find their art here:  
> [Link to art](https://wolfstarbigbang.dreamwidth.org/16401.html)  
> This is totally unbeta, I apologise for all the mistakes, confusing parts and similars. I plan to edit it in the next days.  
> Last note:  
> Mind the tags. Both of them should go in all caps because are the main topics, so if that triggers you just jump to happier lands.

**Prologue**.  
The boy is the only one at home. He lies on the floor, upon the carpet on the living room, watching the sunset. Is the last one he´ll be seeing, for tomorrow the boy will be in a place where concepts as day and night had been long forgotten.  
The boy that lies on the floor is trying to absorb what is around him and make it part of himself. He is forcing the sunshine and the green of the mountains into his molecular structure, because if everything is life, it should be possible to have it all inside. That´s why he opens his hand right under the sunlight, feeling the wind, the smell of trees with his fingers.  
He knows there is someone who can hear/feel/see him, so he stretches his arm and closes his eyes and opens his body and lets it all go, so the other one will receive the call and will see the lonely boy with sun and leafs and earth in his heart.  
Remus, the wild boy, falls asleep facing the mountains without knowing if his message was received. He will be there until his parents arrive, having forgotten what he felt, because there are more important things that this simple life, or so he thinks.

  
**I**.  
Ten years later, nothing remains the same. Remus doesn´t want to wake up, hasn´t wanted in a long time, it´s chaos out there. But…there is some light coming through the window and that´s the starting sign.  
The apartment is completely quiet except for the kettle already whistling and his bones waiting to work. When he manages to warm up gokes to the kitchen to find breakfast already made (a little bit more than what he eats regularly, but it never leaves hope), and the tea waiting to be made. He picks the mug and some toast before going to the balcony, where the plants look as miserable as him today. It must be the sultry weather. The first step is to check on Robert, the basil: if it needs more water, or has too many dry leaves, if it needs more space or it´s getting along with the other plants. Those are kind of strangers for him, just showing up one day, all green and healthy looking, as a suggestion for him to do the photosynthesis as well (he tried, he really did, but the sun is not fond of this city). This is Remus morning routine: crouched from 15 to 20 minutes on the balcony, feet stuck in the soil, sharing a silence with Robert while drinking the tea. Outside this place, silence is non existing, so he creates the moment, gathering the energy that will keep him sane during the day.  
Once is over there are no more than a few steps before going to work. The most complicated one is getting dressed, partly because he hates it, and partly because the house has its own opinions about how he should do it. It only lets him use four colours: green, white, brown and black, like reminding him that he´s earth, and should dress according to that. He tested this some years ago, buying items in different colours, but it was having none of it, so eventually those pieces disappeared.  
Remus gets as warmer as possible (it´s always cold outside), drains what is left of the tea (there is no such thing as too much, right?), goes down the stairs, steps in front of the door, says goodbye to those who are watching, and jumps.  
Oh baby baby it´s a wild world.  
Life in the city is never calm with stimulus everywhere ready to settle in your mind. Just this 20 minute walk is filled with God knows how many ads (all bright and noisy and obscenely inviting), everyone checking their social networks, talking about their dog, cat, family, partners, depression, anxiety, perversions, plans for later, for going back home, back to bed while hoping not to die. But this city”monster, although consuming is not almighty, and Remus moves between its attempts to eat him. There are small things that make him hold on to life: taking care of the garden, going to churches and talking with whatever is listening, the bookstore in the old part of town, the couple that meets every Sunday at the same park he goes (the man has an aura of being loved regardless, and looks at the woman as if she´s mother nature, holding life between her fingertips)…so he keeps going.  
Today is a regular day, and like most of them, lacking memorability. He arrives at the office, thinks about making an entrance but decides against it, since it would be just for his desk to see…and a mop of pink hair that is currently occupying his chair. A mop that is desperate to talk to him.  
“You are in my spot” he greets her.  
“Good morning, dear! Lovely to see you. How was your weekend? Did something fun?” She shots back without missing a beat.  
“Cold, wet, melancholic. I read the Iliad and took a shot every time a simile longer than 2 lines showed up. I suggest it as a drinking game. I was wasted in no time”  
“Wow. Sounds like the greatest time ever”  
She is smiling while saying this, but actually looks like is thinking about dragging him to the next AA meeting she can found out. What went wrong there? Isn´t people supposed to drink on the weekend? Why is she worried? Oh, right, it should be a social event.  
“I wasn´t alone, you know? Some friends showed up” Would that be enough? She´s making a mess of his desk, and he really could do with some quiet”  
“Could you stop? You hate almost the entirely of humanity, and I know you don´t drink, so I´m going to assume your days were spent in your crazy apartment, reading and sleeping. Am I right?”  
“Yes, as usual/I don´t hate people”  
“Good. Now, you would like to know that my visit here is almost over. I just wanted to show some concern for you –and see if you would reciprocate, but that´s a lost cause” and…give you this. We are going this Thursday, you are not allowed to cancel and please, pretend as if you like my company”  
“I do like…” no use for that.  
The pink mop turns into a pink blur (Remus asks if a joke with this is allowed) and he´s left alone with tickets to some opera concert and the feeling that someone just gave him rainbows and unicorns without asking him if he wanted to get rid of the sadness.  
The day is certainly not memorable, but is surprisingly better after this.  
                                             *  
It´s the voices. They are the ones that make him think of the madness, madness, madness, madness, THE MADNESS. Sometimes they are too many, sometimes they condensate in one timeless, wet, purple thing, always inside, without the courage to go out.  
It´s the sadness. It´s not being able to stop thinking, with the mirror refusing to reflect him, the obsessions, the dreams, the patting in the back, the books talking…feeding the voices, the madness, the madness, cutting himself to pieces as long as he can feel something.  
They are perpetually screaming, except for those glorious moments when Remus manages to find something so absorbent that keeps them quiet, and even then, once the activity is over the voices come back with renewed desire to tear him apart. Today has been calm outside, but inside Remus is fighting himself, and it´s exhausting. Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to be someone who doesn´t care about the implications of listening to the mumblings in his head. He´s in the theatre, looking at the singer. The music is good, a program that´s tender, making him think about Sunday mornings and his mom baking the bread of the week. Still not enough. There is noises, voices, people moving in their seats, the song at its highest point…then there is silence. Remus is fixed on blue clothes, black hair, gorgeous smile, silence. So much silence. The person is at the other end of the balcony, lingering dangerously on the railing, when meets Remus´ eyes. Their smile gets wider, brighter. Remus is looking for words, because this is an unexpected situation, and needs to be explained. So far he has:  
• Beautiful  
• Blue  
• Glitter  
• Wings (?)  
• Maybe part of the show  
• So beautiful  
• Warm  
• Mad (but we are all mad here)  
• Love  
• Is Love  
• Love is smiling  
He looks around, trying to see if someone else notices, but no, even when is screaming so spectacularly for anyone to look the rest of the people is paying attention to the orchestra. Blue stares at Remus, moves the head to the sides, like a child luring their shyer friend in to some mischief, moves the wings, shines a little bit more. Remus can´t do anything else besides gape and try to remember that according to the laws of physics he´s not supposed to fly, or levitate, or simply change of space until he is breathing the same air as Blue.  
The sounds are changing. Applauses, chairs moving, his friends talking. The concert is over.  
“Hey there. Did you like it? You´ve being awfully silent all night” she is there again, tangling their arms, creating a pink hug.  
“Yes, it was good. I was just enjoying it. Say, did you noticed this weirdly dress person, in front of us? I think it was a man”  
“I´m not sure. There are very weird outfits here, love, you´ll have to be more specific” no, there aren’t any weird outfits here, but he´s not going to tell her that.  
“It was all blue, lots of glitter, wings”  
“Wings? That´s new. No, sorry, didn´t see it. So, the gang is planning to find a place to drink. Coming?”  
Really, how could he not find that person?  
He´s about to say yes to the drinks, why not? Is not as if he has better plans, when he sees him again. Pretty much the same, only this time reclined to a wall, watching people go by. He catches Remus staring, again, and smiles.  
“Look!! He´s there, next to the entrance!  
But people get in the middle, right in front of them, and Pink is not even average height. Remus knows Blue is there, even when is difficult to hold him in place.  
“Can´t see a thing. Sorry, love. So, pub?  
“Yeah…no, actually. I don´t feel like it. Bed seems better. Call me tomorrow?  
She mumbles some answer and kiss him goodbye, probably not worried about his refusal, since she managed to get him out of the apartment for a night. Pink goes away looking like a statement about how punk is not dead, not even in bright coloured high heels.  
Remus starts walking to the station after giving what he hopes is a very discreet but obvious message to the spot on the wall:  
_Please follow me, please do_.  
The distance to the tube is not long, a nice view, streets empty. He stops in front of a graffiti, smiles and keep going.  
She´s mad but she´s magic. There is no lie in her fire.  
He doesn´t want to verify if Blue is following, for fear of having him turned into sand. He´s not sure when will he be allowed to look, but is not now.  
Finally, the station. It´s deserted, and silent. That´s the only clue of Blue´s presence. It has to be. Blue has to be here, otherwise, nothing makes sense, why would he…?  
Small breeze, no steps but something sounds like moving. A butterfly searching for the nearest exit. Fairy dust leaving a trail. It stops on his left. Remus breathes and slow, so slow, moves his head.  
“Hi” He says to a new face, to black hair, grey eyes, painted skin  
“Hi” is the answer, and probably Remus´ favourite word.  
“Hi” again  
“Hi” and again  
“I´m Remus” what was what his mom said? Right, hand shake.  
The man looks back and forth between his face and his hand, until decides to give in and settles for his eyes, closing the handshake.  
“Hi, Remus, my name is Sirius”  
                                             *  
Three stops feel like forever. Things are not ok, far from it. Sirius is still there, facing Remus, levitating. It turns out, wings are for practical purposes, not just aesthetics. Three stops to make Sirius disappear. Who´s counting?  
**Stop 1**  
“You are a fairy?”  
“Yes”  
“An actual fairy?”  
“I said yes already”  
“You can´t be a fairy”  
“Mate, you are being boring”  
“Oh, sorry, is my concern for my mental health being tedious?! That´s the last thing I´d want”  
“No, but your insistence on denying my right to exist is pretty annoying”  
“That´s not possible. Mythological creatures are an invention of men to give an explanation to those phenomena that they don´t understand. And that includes fairies. You are just a fantasy”  
“Dear lord. Would you like evidence? I can spread some magic dust on a few kids and take them to an island”  
“That´s not a good example. Those children were dead”  
“If you are right, yes. But if I´m right, they were very happy, and I´m very much real”  
**Stop 2**  
“Schizophrenia”  
“What?”  
“One of the main symptoms of schizophrenia is hallucinations. They can be visual, although more common is hearing voices. The patient can easily acknowledge that is sensing something unreal, that those images are not there, but still…still there”  
“You think I´m an invention of your sick brain?”  
“You have to be”  
“Why?”  
“BECAUSE THERE IS NO ONE THAT CAN MAKE HIMSELF INVISIBLE, OR RADIATE LIGHT OR LEVITATE AT HIS OWN LIKING!!! Because why are you here, when there are so many people and so many moments that would actually benefit from something like you, and yet you choose me”  
“…”  
**Stop 3**  
“Remus, would you please stop ignoring me? Why is this so difficult to accept?”  
“Because…bloody hell you are flying”  
They arrived, and Sirius hasn´t gone away. His feet are not touching the ground, the wings making sounds with every movement. It´s the only thing they can hear in this place.  
“Of course I´m flying, I´ve got this” as a demonstration he makes them go faster and flies doing a spiral.  
Remus is going up with the help of a mechanic stair, while Sirius jumps from a wall to the other. Remus feels like crying.  
“Stop it! Stop it! I´m sure you are not real, and honestly, this is not the moment to have a fight with myself about if I finally lost it or what. I need to go home and sleep. Please, go. Please do”  
It´s just the two of them at the entrance of the station. There is the underground sign, some leaflets on the steps, city lights. Sirius is standing up, feet planted, no light coming from him this time. He gets closer to Remus, nose to nose.  
“Fine! Do you want me to go? I´ll go. Do you want to believe that I am a creation of your mind? Well…brace yourself because you are bored out of your mind, and nothing that comes from in there is going to be easy to handle. So, go to bed and think about it. I assure you it´s not going to do much”  
He takes two steps back and disappear with an honest to god tling, leaving glitter on the concrete. Remus spends 15 minutes staring at this sparkling spot. Fairy tales aren´t real. Right?

  
**II.**  
_Do I dare disturb the universe?_  
Two mugs on the dining room table, more hot water that usual: and invitation. It´s Pandora´s box, it´s the knowledge, is life staring back at him, waiting for him. He shouldn´t, he really shouldn´t. But he does it. All in quick moves, so as not to give a chance to second guessing, ending on the balcony.  
Two feet come next to his own. The guest understood the rules: no shoes and no words in the presence of the plants. They sip the tea, Remus looking at Sirius´ feet, and Sirius inspecting Robert, the basil. When he had had enough time to make a decision he opens the door and waits for the other one to go inside. He checks for dirt on their feet, but Sirius´ are immaculate. The talk is due to be in the living room, one in front of the other. There are small changes in the fairy today: still blue, still arrogant, but there is a more evident touch of darkness. Love is a child with a gun in his hands, and right now Sirius might as well be pointing at Remus. A petulant child demanding to be loved. Remus starts.  
“Why are you here?”  
“Do I need a reason?”  
“I do”  
A sigh comes from Sirius.  
“I wanted to. Homes was getting…disturbing. I needed someone clean, and I saw you. Saw you, heard you, felt you.”  
“When you say home…?”  
“You are asking if I mean living inside a flower, taking care of the forest, making alliances with the wild life. What do you think?”“ He says this with a straight face, seeming almost real, except for the way the light around him changes, like a small tinkling.  
“You have to be joking”  
“Of course I´m joking. Flowers are extremely uncomfortable. We have more of a nomad life, going to where it is more pleasant”  
Remus wasn´t expecting that answer. It sounds too much like the truth, and too much like the kind of joke he would do, given the circumstances.  
“How long were you thinking about coming here, before actually doing it?”  
“That doesn´t matter. Time is relative”  
“Oh, for ffffffffsssss sake!”- Breathe in, breathe out, Remus. This will be better if he accomplish to get to the end of this conversation, is only a matter of patience.  
“How?”  
“I don´t know how! We live time in different ways. From the first time I saw you to the moment I decided to make a move could have happened 5, 10, 20 years, a couple of hours. It doesn´t matter. I laid my eyes on you, I wanted to talk to you, I did it. Now I´m here”- He smiles when he says this. It´s not even flirtatious, it´s just a sweet smile.  
“What do you want to obtain from this? What would you like to be the end of it?”  
“I don´t know, Remus. Does it have to be an end?”  
No, it doesn´t, but that´s surrender, too quick, too easy.  
“Why me?”  
“Why not?”  
“…Is that how you really look?”  
That earns him a second lift of eyebrows. His mum would say something about being blunt, questioning. Live and let live, Remus, dear.  
“Is that a problem? Don´t tell me you prefer them blond”- That was definitely flirting.  
“No, no…it´s just that…well, you look human, very human, and that bothers me because if you are a hallucination it makes sense, with that of the mind only being capable of replicate what it knows, but if you are one of nature´s creatures, why are you so similar to the human race? It´s a little bit unimaginative. It is a product of laziness? Intentional? A mistake? Does it have a purpose?”  
He drops all this in a rush, trying to get it out. Is the need to understand, to name, to reduce the problem to nature vs. man or man vs. himself. Understand it, then deal with it. Sirius, on the other hand, seems to be taking the situation in a more playful way, with zero sympathy for Remus´ agony.  
“I knew I choose you for a reason. You are barking mad, darling. I love it. To answer your question: I don´t have a predetermined image. I look like this because, first, I like it, and second, I thought it would be easier for you to accept me if you recognized a familiar shape. Obviously I was wrong with that one, didn´t count the paranoia. But I can change to whatever I want, so don´t get used to anything.”  
This counts, by far, as one of Remus´ weirdest moments. It´s indisputable irrational, and yet, every doubt he can have gets cleared within seconds, if not in reasonable arguments, at least with coherent ones. Reality escaped out of this house, abandoned him, leaving loneliness and fantasy as his only company, and they don´t know what to do with themselves.  
“I need more tea”-  
He goes into the kitchen, being followed by the other after a few seconds. There is not much to do, since the house is sensing his discomfort and does everything to be helpful, but he needs to move, so in the waiting organizes the dishes, makes some advances wit lunch. The water boils, the mugs are waiting, and Sirius casually talking with the sunflowers on the table. Remus can´t understand the words, although his guess is that it must be something flattering, since the flowers are blushing. He feels like a boy again, not knowing if the hand in front of him is going for a caress or for a slap.  
“Sirius, I´m scared”- Admitting that is even scarier that the notion itself. He hasn´t said it since childhood, and now it´s out there. The fairy doesn´t answer, instead prepares the tea and stands next to the boy. Silence again because tea matches perfectly with it. Both barefoot, their toes almost touching, waiting to see who yields first. A breeze passes by, the smell of rain on the field. Remus makes the move, barely noticeable, but everything here is paying attention closely, especially the creature to his side that takes his hand and says the right words.  
“Just jump, Remus. It´s going to be alright”  
                                            *  
The end of the jump was pleasant enough to create a new routine. Months later Remus admits to have reached a fragile sense of normality: breakfast is with company now (a silent one, but company none the less), the getting dressed part is more complicated since it´s two entities having opinions and the third party wanting to be over with it, talking is getting easier (sometimes is about nothing, Sirius picking up the smallest objects and demanding to know their story, sometimes is about Remus needed to be heard, other times is both of them looking for contact). The boy particularly enjoys the mornings, when the magic is not fully functioning for this world, making it very easy to erase the limits between each other.  
Today, the almost man with blue skin is asking why the earth boy came to the city. It´s a fairly innocuous question, but a pressure point for Remus. He hears himself saying I don´t know. He forgot the reason, the real reason. Now, the only memory is that life seemed better here, wider, wilder, eternal. He asks the same back.  
“Why did you came? You said something about your life before. What happened?”  
They stop when a traffic light goes red and keep walking when it changes. Sirius doesn´t say a word for two, three, five, eight, blocks. People around is walking with a purpose, no one caring about another´s soul fight. Blue starts talking without looking at his companion, almost to himself.  
“Life at home wasn´t easy. Coming from the forest, creation express itself intensely, working in extremes only. There is no clear limit between life and death, is a continuum, yet, some creatures try to remain in the state that is known for them, as an attempt to avoid the change. My family is old, one of the oldest ones. They have seen every breathing being come and go, learned how love can be a force of creation and (self) destruction, watched the spirits sacrifice themselves in order to save other forms; and after too many years in this world they realized they were the only witness of this process, and not even with that death will spare them. This knowledge was scary, made them anxious to avoid what they see as full and total nothing. The worst part is that they let life twist in their insides. They saw it coming, and did nothing to stop it.  
The result is something that you might recognise easily. Something close to vampires, feeding from weaker creatures, energy that isn´t theirs. It has been like that for generations. I was educated with those principles, and it was going to be my life, but decided to step away. It´s too rotten. Luckily they are not the only ones, but still, too dangerous, too powerful, and too many. That´s why I came to you. Partly. I needed someone who could understand. I needed you.”  
The building where Remus works is already visible, all 1984 like, a reminder that you are always watched. The talk must come to an end. He doesn´t want to leave Sirius now, not when he looks so fragile.  
“You sure don´t want to go with me? I can find something for you to do”  
“No, it´s fine. I don´t like this place, too close to burning.”  
It would be so simple just to reach and touch him. In the end, the boy settles for nodding.  
Goodbye, then/see you later/don´t go around giving free heart attacks to dreamy pedestrians/remember to call your mom/go lay on the park/you smell like celluloid, it´s beautiful.  
And so he goes, a splash of uncontrollable colour among planned outfits. Remus stares at his fingers, smell them. It´s true. French movies in his hands.  
                                          *  
The office is maddening. Papers everywhere bright coloured furniture open spaces where you are always with someone the smell of coffee tea and organic food photos of the last office party and plans for the next one hey can you help me with this whenever I try to move a file it says that is empty but and I´ve checked the code thousands of times wow I really like your stile today very cosy oh remember my girlfriend´s cousin he´s perfect for you and loves pub quizzes as w…BETWEEN THE PAGES OF HIS NOTEBOOK HE FINDS BASIL LEAVES AND A NOTE THAT SAYS EVERY MORNING WITH YOU. Remus blinks once, twice, puts the note inside his shirt front pocket, breathes, breathes…and you know it wouldn´t do you wrong to change scenarios he´s great and I know you can´t resist the opportunity to show off so what do you think.  
Random person who he works with expects an answer. This time the words come easily.  
“I´m sorry, but I´m not free. The quiz sounds interesting, though. We could plan for some other moment. Thanks, anyway”  
It´s quiet around him. Blue quiet. He finds that the computer program he´s trying to fix typed back:  
EVERY MORNING WITH YOU  
EVERY MORNING WITH YOU  
EVERY MORNING WITH YOU  
EVERY MORNING WITH YOU  
EVERY MORNING WITH YOU  
EVERY MORNING WITH YOU  
EVERY MORNING WITH YOU  
                                            *  
He remember to call his mom. At lunchtime, he tells her about the week, the day, that he misses her food. She is pleased by this, but still worries. He, the son, wants to talk about the visits he´s had, how waking up feels less like a duty and more like a desire, how he truly wants to feel good, despite being too early for things not to go downhill.  
“Mum…”- hesitates  
“Listen, I have to go back. It was nice hearing you. Talk later. I love you. I love you”- Why is hope so hard to believe?  
                                             *  
He goes straight back home. Five stops on the tube, the a few minute walk. Would the fairy still be there? The fairy. There are still chances, good chances, that he´s not real. The same paranoia that makes Remus avoid taking the same route every day for work, tells him that maybe, just maybe, Sirius is indeed an imaginary friend.  
It´s because you feel lonely, because you want something to take you out of this slow death, because who would come to you, if not an invention, someone imaginary. He can see and accept every boring detail of your existence. Why? Because he´s you. He comes from you. You are still alone.  
Without wanting to, hearing this voice makes him go faster. The street, the door, the coat rack, the stairs, the music. He hasn´t used the stereo in weeks.  
The blue spot is there, seated on the ceiling on meditating position, eyes wide open. He looks at Remus the moment he enters.  
“Did you came running?”  
“I…”- gasp  
“I…”- gasp  
“I wasn´t sure I you´d st…I”- Oh, the absence of words. Shakespeare would be so disappointed.  
But there is no great loss there, as the other almost man seems to understand. Still on the ceiling, he stands up and take a few steps until their eyes are matching.  
“Hello, Remus”  
“Hello, Sirius”  
“I missed you”  
“I missed you too”  
“Oh, but I missed you more. I missed you so much that I skipped the city tour and came here instead, to be in your land”  
“And I missed you so much that I changed the program I´m working on so it has your colour palette”  
“I missed you so much that I read all your favourite books”  
“What?! How?! How did you know?”  
“Easy, the house helped me. It pushed them outside so I would know which ones to pick”  
“Well, I missed you so much that I almost tell my mom about you”  
“I missed you so much that I drank that awful tea you like and asked the plants for stories about you”  
“I missed you so much that I thought about sewing your note on my chest, above the heart”  
“…it´s a tie, then”  
“Yes, I think so”  
A maniac laugh takes over them, because in the end, there is no other way to survive this –whatever this is- than accepting to live intensely.  
“Tea?”  
“Yes, please”  
As an offer, Remus prepares the brand that Sirius likes, and drink it while talking about the books. Apparently Sirius did read them all: he´s quoting them, and not just the beginning. In the middle of discussing One hundred years of loneliness, where the most beautiful woman flies away on a sheet, Remus realizes he´s being courted. Courted, wooed, charmed, showed yellow butterflies, and in the meantime he neglected to hate himself. It´s an unsettling notion.  
“Thanks for the note”- he says as a way to hold the fantasy.  
“You are welcome. It was nothing”  
True, but at the same time it was something. The note itself is just a detail, one of those things you do to make people smile, however, it carries so much kindness that the result change. In a world like this, one of the greatest expressions of independence is choosing to be kind. Sirius is sharing his freedom.  
Wanting to protect them, night goes by in a gentle way, allowing them extra hours to enjoy each other. They cook, talk, read aloud some old poems, watch the city lights. It´s magic inside four walls.  
                                          *  
Existence is a little bit more complicated than daring to be happy. Depression strikes back after months of not making appearances, turning Remus upside down. Everything is five times more difficult, it hurts to open the eyes, the first thought of the day being: What little desires to exist. It doesn´t feel like hate anymore, it´s closer to a perpetual helplessness, an eating desire of crying and asking for help.  
On mornings like this, not even the other can help.  
The first breakdown happens on a Monday night. Remus has just arrived from work, where the week seemed to last forever, with all the tedium of a day in front of a computer. Sirius isn´t there, so he takes the luxury of collapsing on the couch and becoming part of it. From that spot he sees the afternoon die, the lights disappearing. Another day over, a day less. Less for what?  
When the fairy returns the apartment is pitch black and smells strongly of pain. The boy makes no sign of acknowledging the new presence, Sirius has to shake him, make some questions. He receives a single answer: tired. Remus is terrified of going to sleep because that means waking up and restarting the day. Waking up and pretending to be functional.  
“I don´t want to, Sirius. I can´t. I can´t.”  
Blue is not sure of what´s happening but he knows the feeling. He seats on the sofa, Remus feet on his lap, and starts talking about his day.  
I went to the park/met a very clever boy/I tried a kebab for the first time/saw a second hand bookstore and thought of you/everything makes me think of you.  
“I hate my job”- Remus interrupts him without preamble. It´s similar to the first fallings stones of a crumbling.  
“I hate everything that comes with it, I hate the people, I despise how I behave with them, I hate the fact that I don´t know what do I work for. What is the result, the end? Too far away from me. It´s alienating. It´s the twenty first century, the technological era. I hate machines. I feel like a character in Modern Times. I hate that I can only feel depressed or full of anger. There is no in between, no variations. I´m just a piece of this huge machinery that has completely forgotten about us, humans, and devours us nonstop. I´m part of a nightmare that doesn´t want to let me go. I´m Marx worst premonition. I´m useless. Useless! -This last word comes out with a sob, and for the next minutes Remus forgets about being a functional human and cries his soul out. What prevents him from dissipating in tears is the light at the other end of the sofa and the war, hands in his soles. He falls asleep in the same position, with an empty stomach and still dressed.  
The second incident happens outside, weeks later. The voices return. He´s going to meet Pink when he hears them.  
_Everyone is looking at you._  
_Look, they are laughing. It´s because of the way you walk._  
_Why bother going out if you are going to be like this? You should have known better._  
_She is not going to be amused by this._  
_Stop! Stop! Make it Stop! Why now? I´ve being doing very well all this time! / Yes, but it wasn´t going to last forever, you should have expected it. Besides, you were getting too comfortable with the idea of having…/NO! Stop. Stop. I cannot keep going like this, I want peace/ Peace is a lie, boy. You have either ignorance or knowledge… guess which one is yours. You´ve read too many books/ **STOP!!** / Oh, wow, your fingers are already bleeding. Really? Shame, you have no self-control. I taught you better/ **NO!! LEAVE ME!**_  
The traffic sounds come back. He arrived at the movie theatre without being noticed, or too noticed, he can still feel certain looks. Pink isn´t there yet. His hands are shaking.  
_Please, Sirius, I need you._  
He begs to be allowed in to the bathroom and locks himself in one of the cubicles. Is clean, too clean. It makes him think of how dirty it must have been, if they needed so much product to clean it. Would he die if he licks the wall?  
It´s quiet, but it´s dangerous. They might come back.  
_Sirius, where are you?_  
He wants to throw up; he really, really wants to throw up. Is here when Sirius shows up, at the worst moment. He hugs Remus, whispering sweet words to get him to breathe properly. The world is coming back in small pieces. Gold lights, city lights, humanity humming. A sound that never stops. They stay like that until Remus feels capable of handling the world long enough to go home. It doesn´t matter that Pink is waiting for him, she´ll understand. He follows the fairy, not thinking until they reach the apartment and he´s being wrapped with the thickest blanket ever, and again, the sweet words.  
It doesn´t get better after this. People starts noticing, questions are made, attempts at talking. The most alarming moment is not when mom calls out nowhere, but when dad calls without a reason. He was understanding, loving, and mostly wrong. Suggested going out, calling friends, finding someone to spend the night.  
How can Remus tell him that he has hated the last times someone else has touched his body, making more difficult to present that same body to another human? How can he tell his father that he wants to go back to the town and in the mountains until a tree grows out of him?  
Dad just wants to help him to be happy. Mom is attempting a repetition of the pregnancy by calling every day, asking for his body cycles, sending food one week after the other, pulling put his thoughts with loving clamps and then eating them. Pink is extremely giving with her bubbliness, one of those entities that cannot give hate a place in the world. Sirius, the brightest star in the sky, the one that makes comfortable talk and comfortable silence, he´s always there, at shouting distance. Four names to call. One number away from a handful. Sometimes this notion makes a whole in his chest that, he´s pretty sure, every person on the planet can see. It becomes unbearable.  
On a Sunday morning –Remus is not sure of the exact day, time gets confusing- Sirius got him out of the house.  
“I want to see the trees, dear”- He said as a pretext, but it´s mostly because he fears that the boy is getting addicted to sleep.  
It´s a lovely, lovely day. A day like a Disney movie, where fairy tales take place. There is something resembling a joke in this. Sirius looks beautiful, with his hair braided, the wings at their full size. Paint him black and he could be a demon, a gentle demon. They sit on a bench next to the main path, watching a group of children playing to see who could eat more dirt.  
Small pleasures in life- thinks Remus.  
Without anyone noticing, the fairy starts making small changes on the game to make the boy smile. First, when one of the kids is focused on chewing and swallowing, he transform the dirt in cotton candy. Neither of the infants understand, but the lucky child keeps going until is over. With the second one, at the moment of spitting out and losing the battle, what falls from his mouth are small, yellow wildflowers. Next one is butterflies, next is cookie crumbs, and so it goes to the point of the children eating just to see what will happen. When the surprise turns out to be chocolate they go running to their parents, oblivious to the magic left behind.  
Then, and just then, Sirius moves his face to look at Remus. An old question comes to the boy´s mind.  
“Why are you here?”  
Blue takes his time to answer, buying time by fidgeting with his clothes. Tenderness makes and assault that takes Remus by surprise.  
Shades of blue. You could be an early Picasso. You would be worth millions. You are worth millions. I wish you would show it to the world.  
“What is beauty for you, Remus?”  
“Um…?”  
“No trick question. Just that: What is beauty?”  
“Ok…I guess it is something aesthetically pleasant and intelligent as well. It is not just to look pretty, I think that beauty requires complexity, so…aesthetics and intelligence. Put that together and you can call someone or something beautiful. Why?”  
“Well, beauty, for me, and for the place I come from, is related to the concept of creation. A positive energy is beautiful, conception, growing. Ultimately, that energy it translates into something a bit more understandable -and just a bit-, that is love. Love as the opposite of fear, as what allows life to develop freely. That same love has multiple expressions: goodness, creativity, empathy, forgiveness, freedom, but in the end...it's always the same. Following this line, you could say someone is beautiful when that person makes a garden grow out of clay, the same person that feed animals on the street, that understands that nature doesn't have to be in war against technology, and suffers because can’t find a way to express all that.  
I'm here because sometimes that beauty gets buried under layers of self pity, diseases, inmovility and rejection from the outside. And sometimes, it needs help to show up.”  
There are occasions where words don’t want to be understood. The boy wants to ignore what has been said, old habits are hard to kill. Sirius knows, so he tries again.  
“Look over there, to that bench on the right. What do you see?”  
It's placed under a big tree. There is an old woman seated. It's easy to see that she is not in her right mind: wears old, dirty clothes, a hat too small for her head, the face smudged with make up (blue eyeshadow, strong dots of rouge, pink lipstick), and a loose smile that completes the look of being in another world. From her bag she pulls out a shoebox, and from inside it, a black kitten. She puts the animal on the grass, where it starts meowing until she feeds him. The whole image is heart breaking.  
“She's never going to take proper care of it she's not going to take it to the vet, or feed it every day. Why are you asking me about this?”  
“Do you think that's beautiful?”  
“What?! No, not at all. Do you?!”  
“Well, everything you said is true, she cannot give that cat the perfect life, but look at it this way: she has something to nurture, to give love to. She’s not in the same level of consciousness that you are, and yet, she's capable of caring for another life. That cat is her anchor, and in exchange she offers what little she has.”  
_Oh_  
His eyes feel heavy, suddenly. Tears falling in his chest. He can’t breathe.  
Please, take me home.  
Sirius complies without saying another word. He just be doing something because on the way back Remus feels invisible. Not one look in their direction. At home he finds a note from Pink, who made a surprise visit, two messages from mom (it's been weeks since the last time you called, dear. I worry), a call from work. He ignores them all in favour of crashing in bed. There he lets the fairy sing lullabies and closes his eyes. The tears keep falling.  
                                          *  
It happens on an ordinary day. He's having lunch with people from the office, pretending to listen to one of them make noise, when an idea makes entrance in his overloaded brain.  
_I don’t have to be here_.  
For a short second after the last word he prepares for this being his last sane thought. It's all downhill from now on. The look on these people faces is going to be priceless.  
“Hey, mate, do you think that maybe...?”  
Words come out of his mouth without much sense. They are not especial, they are not dangerous, not on their own, but put together the way he's doing now and they can provoke so much pain. Good. That's what he's aiming for.  
First comes the anger. He looks at them from above, rejects them for adapting so well to this live.  
_You spiritless bodies_  
_You waste of atoms_  
This phase involves screaming, because violent ends need violent means.  
Second comes the pity. Poor fools that know nothing else but the physical world, this physical world that ends so quickly and with so little joy.  
_You cavemen_  
_You that kill the wiser man because light is blinding_  
Next is all about fear, this time stronger that every version of it he has felt before. What if...?  
_Don’t you get it?_  
_I've met someone different_  
_Someone that is not like any of us._  
_There is so much more than us_  
_And you cannot see him_  
_He's real, more real than this moment, but you cannot see it._  
The last stage is pain. His body aches, his soul aches.  
_How can you not see him?_  
_He's right there_  
_He has been there all this time_  
_Make yourself visible!!_  
_Stop playing games!!_  
_Why is he doing this? Sirius is behind his co-workers but when they turn in his way the see the empty balcony._  
_Stop thinking!_  
_Stop thinking like reasonable people and look at him_  
_HE'S RIGHT THERE!_  
_His skin is blue_  
_He has plants coming out of his pores_  
_He's the forest_  
_Don’t you see it?_  
The air is gone from this place, Remus can’t breathe. He's trying, because it burns deeper than his lungs, but there is no air. Silence is not welcomed this time, not when he can the other people's thoughts, and the brightest star in the sky is staring blankly at him, doing nothing.  
A body comes closer, makes slow attempts to touch him. Eventually the arms belonging to that body surround him, giving a support that is neither needed not rejected. A voice asks for his address, a phone number to call for help, his allergies. Another body opens a hand that should be his but doesn’t feel like it, places a glass full of water and a white cilinder that tastes like science.  
The boy tries to count how many times he can inhale before falling asleep. Around the twentieth of the twelfth he feels the world fading away, the smell of wildflowers being the last element to disappear.  
                                           *  
White walls, white ceiling, white chair, white desk, the doctor's clothes are white, her teeth artificial white. She guards all the colours, saving to herself the right to change everyone else's palette. Any colour you like.  
_Blue, I want blue_  
_Blue minus the sadness_  
She makes him talk, asking small questions that have him going on for hours, days. From a two meters distance this doctor pierce Remus with eyes that show nothing, not when he mentions the magic house, the garden, the saving presence. She doesn’t try to be seen as warm, there is no use in that. She has an exclusive goal: to obtain all the information, put the pieces together, order a treatment. That's why she exists in white.  
The diagnose is quite easy to understand: schizophrenia, preceded by a long depression. Cognitive and affective functions damaged. It’s difficult to know the cause, probably a mix between genetics and society. The best solution is to start with a strong combination of pills that will stabilize him, watching the progress. She suggests not to be left alone for the first few months. Later on she can evaluate him and see if there has been some improvement.  
The earth boy listens calmly. His mom has infinite questions about how to do it, for how long, what to expect. He can answer that: the drugs are coming, the numbness is coming, the shaking hands, his conscious spread on a wall for visitors to watch and learn.  
_And here we have Remus._  
_This specimen couldn’t adopt to the demands of the environment, so we obviously put him down._  
_He presented a fierce resistance to our first attempts to heal him._  
_He even created an imaginary friend! (laughs)_  
_But eventually he understood that want we wanted the best for him._  
_You should have seen him: docility at its finest_  
It seems inevitable. He takes the medicine and goes home. His mom takes control of the house, he let’s her. The blue spot is waiting for him in the bedroom, knowing at a first glance what was Remus' decision. Blue gets closer, talks (this was not what I wanted, Remus, come back), the boy ignores. That's part of the treatment, the doctor said it will get easier with time. He has his doubts, but still complies.  
Mum fussies in the kitchen, Sirius despair, Remus hides under the blanket and prays for the monster under the bed to be gentle at the moment of take him away.  
                                        *  
_Mom, just killed a man._  
_Mom, do you still love me?_  
_Mom, what do you think of me now?_  
_Mom, still in bed. The house is in darkness._  
_Come out and tell me something. I don’t like the darkness. When I was a child it was fine to say it, now, I try to be quiet when I run to.the bedroom, with my back against the wall, just in case._  
_Mom, you want to make this room yours too: you changed my sheets, organized the books (taking care for it no to be obvious), you left me clean clothes, looked at what I have hanged on the walls, searched for drugs (the bad ones, not the ones that you watch me drink every morning), you asked yourself if I'm gay or “just weird", touched the furniture to check the levels of dust, tried to find my letter in something that isn’t related to work, you thought that maybe that maybe it would be better if I wasn’t your son. Sometimes I wonder the same._  
_You couldn’t find anything, and talking is not an option._  
_I light some candles, almost waiting to see you seated on the bed, making an effort to talk about the day without sounding too inquisitive or bored. You can’t decide for neither._  
_I undress. Perhaps if I do it in a provocative way what's looking at me will longer be a monster, but a man. Would you come if I scream for that? Would you come if I scream WOLF? Why didn’t you do it when I first screamed years ago?_  
_You didn’t listen, mom, no one did. I wanted someone to save me, and ended doing it myself. I did it in the form if magic and the forest, only I didn’t know. Science told me that they are not healthy, you won’t even name them, and you know what happens when you stop using the words. I see how the plants dry because you won’t water them. Robert dies and I think how cruel do have to be to forget it’s name, but science told me it's in my head, so if I don’t forget is because I'm a coward who cannot live free of diseases and the attention of the others around me. Robert helped me to get up and out during these years, mom, how can I stop naming it?_  
_I miss how the apartment used to smell of countries and rain, how it hummed when I was having a good day. Now is esterile. I never told it thank you._  
_I stop in front of the books to see if they can give me an answer. Nothing happens. They remind me of him. He used to love them, he read them all, he had favourites. He who I don’t want to name because just a word will be enough to give him entrance, again. He hasn’t left me. He's here every second, talking nonsense of wanting to to heal me, nonsense because he comes from me so it’s not a true other offering help. He made a tantrum the other day, screamed that this isn’t right, that I'm giving up, broke some plates. When you came to the kitchen, following the noise, I told you that it was my fault. It wasn’t far from the truth, in the end he’s there because I want him to be._  
_Funny got the pills had made the previous depression feel like a poem written in the adolescence. I fear the dreams, although being awake is even scarier. I struggle to remember the reasons that brought me to the city or that make me hold on to life. Happiness is a blurry afternoon in the swing, when the views of the mountains at sunset told me that I was part of the world and the world was part of me._  
_You love me, mom, and I think I love you you too, but that is not enough. I want to hate you, I want to destroy you and the universe with you. I want to be me without you, me without the others. Me as a being that exists outside the depression and the mind games._  
_I look in the mirror. I see a man in a man's body, hair covers almost every inch of it. Plenty of scars underneath, curiously, none of them from self harm. The means haven’t been scarce, what I haven’t had enough of is desire. It would be easier if I could find it, but dying keeps being tedious in any way: to cut my writs, to hang myself from the ceiling, to put a flgun in my temple, to drown in the bathtub, immolation, to jump of a bridge, in front of a car, from overdoses, from cirrhosis, from starvation, a chronic condition, a stake in the heart, exposure to the sun, a silver bullet, holy water, a satanic rite, pay a visit to grandma, letting you go, loving me. So many options, so little desire._  
_Come out and listen, mom. Come out and don’t speak, just listen. I have many words inside, none good for use. I have the will to live but no one to believe me. I have seen forgiveness, I have seen love. I have known him. Him, that is I. I, that struggle. I, that am crazy._  
                                             *  
There is Bad, there is worst, and there is the point where he feels like living in a minute stretched infinitely. It's he’ll with a good aesthetic.  
Mom left after the second visit to the psychiatrist. His boss has a resignation letter on his name due to medical reasons. The alarm on his cell phone goes on twice a day saying Time for a fix. A ghost watches each glass of water being poured, each white cylinder being selected, each swallowing. Masochism lost its meaning here: there is no evident pleasure, just sadness as the only emotion worthy of acknowledge.  
Remus has made a routine of going to the park. In a bag carries a book, just in case the fog let him concentrate and sits on the same bench. For the first few days he was tempted to go looking for the old woman and check on the cat, but the possibility of not finding what he wanted to see made him stay still. In his mind the kitten has grown happy and healthy. He's also scared of being in front of the woman and getting to the conclusion that they are the same. So he sits there to watch the people while his body dies. He saw an old man with the burden of not giving up his ambitions in exchange of saving his family; saw a person who did everything to run away from.fear, only to find that same fear waiting and the end of the road; saw the same lovely couple, really saw them this time, and realized they are as broken as anyone. She has been called names too many times, he was blind and couldn’t see when a friend needed help. All those people are broken inside, Remus included, the difference with the couple is that they have learned to kiss their wounds.  
_Sana, sana, culito de rana_  
_Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana*_  
If she is mother nature and he is the mountains, she should kiss his wounds. Maybe she does, and he doesn’t know. She kiss him when meets his eyes and smiles, when she thinks of him at night and prays for better times, when she delays the meetings with her boyfriend just to see if the earth boy is still fighting. He is kissed from afar, by her and by the shadow that follows his every steps, especially when they see the reminder on the screen.  
                                             *  
_Dicen que no tengo duelo, llorona_  
_Porque no me ven llorar_  
_Hay muertos que no hacen ruido, llorona_  
_Y es más grande su penar_.  
He wakes up on the sofa, again. Sirius is there, bathing in the afternoon sunglight that comes from the street. The image takes Remus back to an old day, when he thought no one listening to his call. He feels so much older.  
“If I die, would you still be around?”  
Perhaps for fear of scaring the boy if he moves too fast, Sirius shows his surprise only with his eyes. He looks so fragile.  
“I don’t know. I was hoping to avoid that dilemma for a while"  
Me too  
“I had a dream last night. You were there"  
“Oh...”  
“We were on the top of a mountain, standing in the path. I could see the valley, it was so green and the sky so blue. You were hugging me, with your face buried in my neck. I had a wound on my stomach from where the blood was dripping. It made a stain on your clothes. You started singing and I knew you were crying because your voice sounded broken”  
_Ay_  
_De mi, llorona_  
_Llorona de azul celeste_  
“I felt so peaceful. I thought that I was at home, at last"  
“Remus...”- the voice of the real fairy sounds broken.  
“I don't want to die"- he is so frightened, and he can see the sadness in Sirius’ eyes, the hope for a change in the boy's next words.  
“I want you to leave me"  
I'm sorry  
“I was so eager to help you. I really thought I could do it"- Sirius says in a whisper.  
“I know. But that wasn’t going to succeed with your hopes alone. I should have known how to handle the help. I let the blood come out without attempting to stop it. I didn’t know how. I let myself be eaten by the city, and I thought I was avoiding it by living in isolation. I made depression my best friend. You couldn’t solve my problems, because I didn’t want to see them. They were too sad. Now, I've looked for so long at their faces that I'm no longer scared. I want to do it. I don’t know how is it going to end, or if I'm going to make it, but I need to do it, and I have to be alone.”- the boy gives this answer in hushed tones as well, but with no space for hesitation. Is a decision. Sirius hopes that perhaps if the words stay inside the apartment nothing will have to happen, perhaps Remus will find a less world breaking way to heal. The reigning silence denies those posibilities. So it be.  
They take this as the last night. Remus makes the tea, Sirius opens the door to the balcony. The boy carries the mugs, the fairy makes space on the soil for them. The earth boy digs his feet on the ground and crouches, the brightest star in the sky stays stand, with a hand on the other's shoulder. They booth look the day die. Remus wakes up in his bed, to the noise of a self heating kettle.  
Epilogue.  
The memory came in the form of a smell: wildflowers. They are not unusual in this town, but never in the coffee shop. It lasts a second, just enough to make him think of blue afternoons and black hair. Later that day he went to the market in search of a brand of tea that he hasn’t tasted since he moved from the city.  
A week later he puts an extra mug on the windowpane. It's the first one of many. They are always empty by the time Remus goes to bed.  
A month and five days later one of his younger students tells him about a new neighbour in town.  
“He's gorgeous"- she says in a dreamy voice that speaks loudly of too many princess stories.  
He continues serving two mugs every morning and every night.  
Two months later the barista at the coffee shop says his order has been paid. She points to the end of the place, to a table occupied by a man.  
_He's gorgeous_  
Somehow his brain decided to replicate the same dreamy voice. That's what happens when you spend so much time with children.  
He thanks the girl and starts walking. Eventually he manages to get to the table and sit. What he can’t manage is the ability to speak, it’s enough with letting the hours go in silence. When it's time to go home Remus knows what to say, so he stretches his arm, open his hand, and waits. The hand that meets his is warm with a touch of blue.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Old rhyme that mothers tell their kids when they make a wound (usually a scratch, something superficial). It should be something like this: heal, heal, frog's little butt. If it doesn't heal today, it will heal tomorrow. I know it doesn't make much sense in English, but I swear it works ;-) all the pain goes away. 
> 
> The song in Remus' dream is The Weeping Woman (La llorona), specifically Joan Baez's version. It's heart breaking.  
> I wrote this with music in my head for specific moments, but I don't mention it, so if someone would like to know them to add a bit of magic, you can ask.


End file.
